


Eventually

by JustJasper



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rope Bondage, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 09:58:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5159492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustJasper/pseuds/JustJasper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All it takes is one finger to take Dorian apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eventually

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [electricshoebox](http://archiveofourown.org/users/electricshoebox) for betaing!
> 
> A nod of acknowledgement to [neomeruru](http://archiveofourown.org/users/neomeruru/pseuds/neomeruru) for ['Surfacing'](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4449200), which I think likely inspired the very pro-water metaphors re subspace theme in this work.

**“And maybe that was love. Being so vulnerable and allowing someone else in so far they could hurt you, but they also give you everything.” – Christine Feehan**

In a tavern room on the border of Nevarra, The Bull ties Dorian in rich, dark purple rope. It looks so good against his skin, his arms stretched up above his head, with enough slack so he can rest. His legs though, folded at the knee and spread wide, they're gonna ache.

It takes about an hour, he thinks. He's pretty good at keeping time, right up until Dorian's involved. Hours melt so easily into each other when they're together, so as they begin to lose the light of day, the Bull takes a marked candle and eases it to Dorian's bound hands so he can light it from a magical flame.

“Is that for my benefit or yours?” Dorian drawls.

The Bull doesn't think he's relaxed, the way he flexes against the restraints. But he has been incredibly patient, letting the Bull work as he tests each knot, and makes sure Dorian is secure and comfortable.

“How long do you plan on spending on me?”

“That depends,” the Bull says.

He considers the bed, and Dorian in the middle of it, and slides himself up alongside him, holding himself up on an arm. He settles in, makes sure his knee can last it out, moves his soft cock into a comfortable position between his legs. He doesn't miss the way Dorian's pink tongue darts out to wet his lips, or how heavy-lidded and hungry his eyes are as he watches.

“Depends?”

“On how much you can stand.”

The Bull runs a single finger along Dorian's jaw.

“Oh, one of those nights is it?”

The Bull hums, and traces his finger down Dorian's neck, across his clavicle, then up his bicep.

“I'm going to make you feel good.”

He lets his fingers slide along the lines of ropes, where they press on Dorian's skin, tracing his own pattern, and taking advantage of the large, unobstructed sections he built into the design.

“You think I can take you apart like this?” the Bull asks. “Just one finger?”

Dorian goes still, probably suppressing a squirm. The Bull runs his finger back down Dorian's arm and then down his chest, following the boundaries of the ropes where they divide his torso into large sections.

“I'm sure you could accomplish a great deal with that finger.”

“Only if you want me to.”

Dorian laughs. “I've let you tie me up, haven't I?”

The Bull hums. “You can use the watchword any time.”

“I know,” Dorian says.

The Bull gets another shiver from him when he draws his finger along Dorian's ribs, then his hip, and Dorian's skin contracts into gooseflesh in his wake. His thighs offer more flesh for the Bull to explore; the ropes dig into his muscles, and his calves are strapped still, and Dorian can only twist against the Bull's feather-light finger touch.

“What if I teased you until you couldn't stand it?” the Bull asks. “What if I took all night?”

Dorian shifts, his cock filling against his belly. The Bull ignores it, even if he knows the lift of Dorian's hips is meant to tempt him. Some days he'll indulge, give up any potential plans he had and give in to Dorian. It works out, because some days that's exactly what he wants, too.

“Wouldn't be the first time.”

Today the Bull wants it to last. It's been a few days since they've done anything more than tumble into their tent and sleep, when the Chargers watch schedule hasn't kept them apart completely. Finally, with the job complete, an inn offers them a little more time.

He traces his finger against the join of thigh and hip, can feel the twitch of Dorian's cock against his stomach. It's tempting to drink in the sight, but the way Dorian's eyelashes flutter against his cheeks is just as good.

When the Bull slides his finger ever so lightly over Dorian's cock, Dorian finally lets a groan pass his lips.

“There we go,” the Bull coos. “You let me take care of you.”

Dorian hums his approval as the Bull slides his fingertip up the length of his cock to where a bead of precome threatens to spill over. The Bull dips his finger into it, and pulls away a string of fluid until the thin thread breaks away and falls onto Dorian's stomach. Of course, then he sucks his finger into his mouth for the taste of him.

“Filthy,” Dorian says, a reflex reaction with no conviction to it. The Bull can get angry at Tevinter for that another day.

“You taste good.”

The Bull returns his damp finger to Dorian's cock, and smears fluid over the crown, catalogues the way Dorian jerks his hips and tries to push into the sensation.

“Look how thick your cock gets when I'm barely even touching you.”

“You like me easy, do you?” Dorian says, his grin absolutely wicked. Oh, if Dorian wasn't restrained, that would be a grin with intent.

“I like you every way,” the Bull says. He dips his head and kisses that grinning mouth. “I love you.”

Dorian moans, and leans up as much as he can to keep their lips together, to coax the Bull into deepening it. He seems to know now that if he doesn't echo it back immediately, that the Bull won't retract his words.

They're true, and will always be true. He knows how Dorian feels, in turn, for however long they're true for him too.

“I love you too.”

“But there's only one of me,” the Bull says. Dorian groans.

“Thank the Maker for _that_.”

“You telling me you wouldn't want me and other-me to both fuck you raw?”

Dorian groans, a deeper, less affected one as his cock pulses out more precome onto his belly, and the Bull laughs. As tempting as it is to wrap his hand around Dorian's cock, he keeps to one finger stroking along the bulging vein.

The Bull knows Dorian's body well, and he knows what he likes. He strokes where the shaft meets the head, and has Dorian writhing. Dorian's arms tug at the bonds keeping them up and away from involving himself, from making more contact. It's only now the Bull notices he's pressed himself to Dorian's side, that his own cock is half-hard in the crease between his thigh and against Dorian's.

“I'm going to make you come with just one finger,” he says. Dorian huffs a breath upwards that makes his hair dance over his forehead. “Eventually.”

“Eventually?” Dorian echoes, then “Ah! Ah! Ah!” when the Bull begins to stroke his finger in earnest.

He knows by the way Dorian's body tightens, the way his fingers and his toes curl, the way his neck strains, that he's so close. The Bull takes him there, right to the precipice with his finger working under the sensitive head of Dorian's cock until he's groaning with the swell of his orgasm.

“Kaffas, yes, yes!”

The Bull takes his hand away. Dorian thrusts his hips uselessly, unable to use his feet for good leverage, and moans with frustration.

“Eventually.”

Dorian scowl is a clear challenge. “You think I can't handle you taking me to the edge like that, and then denying me?”

“Oh, I know you can handle it. Damn pretty when I do it, that moment right when you wanna come.”

After Dorian's hips have stopped jerking, and enough time has passed that Dorian's cock has begun to flag, the Bull begins again. He traces his finger over Dorian's chest, his thighs, his stomach. He brushes it over his balls, flicks them so they bounce around. Dorian splutters a laugh at that, but doesn't say shit, because he knows full well the Bull can call him on how much he likes playing with the Bull's balls.

He smears more of Dorian's precome down his cock, and can feel his own cock twitching as he thinks about how much Dorian leaks when the Bull teases him. He wants to lick it off Dorian's stomach, suck it out of the end his cock right from the source, but that's not the plan.

“You're going to be cruel again, aren't you?” Dorian says, as his body tightens and climbs, the Bull's finger working him towards release again. The Bull watches him, sees the sweat beginning to glisten against him, knows the ropes will come away damp with it.

He pushes Dorian right to the edge again, and then stops.

“Shit! Ohh, shit,” Dorian groans, head pressed back into the pillows. “Awful man.”

“Awful, am I?”

“Yes,” Dorian says. He looks at the Bull, and there it is, he's starting to lose the fight against sinking to the feeling, if he's even truly fighting at all. The Bull leans in and soothes him with kisses until Dorian relaxes again, breathing evening out and body no longer straining and stretching against his bonds.

The third time he takes Dorian to that edge and doesn't let him go over, Dorian whimpers and whines, tugging petulantly at his bound arms, a crackle of electricity flaring at his palm.

“Say the word, and I stop.”

Dorian actually pouts, but he doesn't say it. He takes the kisses the Bull gives him greedily, trying to push their bodies closer. The Bull lets him, knowing that Dorian is at his mercy completely tonight.

After the fourth, and the fifth, and the sixth times he does it, Dorian is utterly submerged. When you get someone there, the Tamassrans call it _antaam-taashath_. There's no phrase in Tevene for it, and Dorian didn't even know it was something he could have before they met. Knowing that still makes the Bull ache.

Every touch is amplified, and necessary; even the lightest touch has Dorian gasping and moaning, and the Bull knows if he took his finger away, or worse, moved his body away from where he's pressed to Dorian's side, that Dorian would cry and panic and want him like a drowning man wants air.

He keeps them connected, as the candles burn down and Dorian writhes and groans in the ropes. His hair is sticking to his damp forehead, his bottom lip plump and dark, swollen where his teeth have caught on it.

The Bull brings him to the edge again and when he stops he trails his finger down, slides it along the cleft of Dorian's ass to where his puckered hole twitches and his thighs strain. Dorian whimpers, and breaks the surface gasping for air.

“Please, please! Bull, I need you! I need you, I need you to—kaffas, please touch me. Please. _Please_!”

“Kost,” the Bull says. Dorian stills with recognition, eyes unfocused, wrecked and beautiful. “Are you alright, kadan?”

“Please,” Dorian whispers.

“Do you need to use the watchword? Do you want to stop?”

Dorian gives a dry sob. “Please don't stop. Don't stop again. Amatus, please.”

“Okay, I got you.”

The Bull takes his finger away from Dorian's cock, and Dorian wails his displeasure at the lack of stimulation. The Bull sucks his finger into his mouth, wets it, and then as Dorian whimpers he seeks out his hole again.

This time he flicks over the crinkled muscle and then pushes his finger in—one slow, wet slide. Dorian's body jerks, and the Bull finds the spot inside him that will send him hurtling over the edge and presses his finger against it.

Dorian howls. He sprays his release over his stomach, over the ropes criss-crossing his torso, and thrashes his way through it as the Bull rubs on his prostate and doesn't relent. Someone bangs on the wall and shouts indistinguishably, but the Bull has time for nothing but Dorian as he groans and thrusts, helpless with sensation.

Lightning crackles weakly at Dorian's hands, and finally he collapses back, sinking again.

The Bull unties him, carefully peeling the damp ropes away from his body, and smoothing the marked skin they reveal. The Bull keeps his hands on him as he moves around, never straying too far, and stretches out the arm he's been leaning on.

The candle passes into the next notch by the time Dorian surfaces again, stretching his freed limbs and lifting his head, blinking slowly at him.

“Hey, kadan,” the Bull says.

“You're an evil man.” Dorian's hair is a mess, and he grins lazily. “How long did you torture me for?”

He makes some attempt to peer at the candles near the bed, but gives up and slumps on the Bull's chest instead, slings a leg over the Bull's and snuggles against him. The Bull rearranges them a little, makes sure Dorian is comfortable and that neither of them will wake with unnecessary aches.

“A few hours.”

“You truly are terrible.”

“Yeah,” the Bull laughs. “I'll wake you up in the morning and be terrible to you all over again, if you want.”

Dorian hums, and the Bull strokes his hair until he falls asleep against him, then follows.

**“I want to be your last thought at night, and your first taste at dawn.” – Nenia Campbell**

**Author's Note:**

> Kost = peace  
> Antaam-taashath = literally "body calm", a phrase I made up to mean the equivalent of "subspace". "Athlok-taashath", or "mind calm", would be a similar phrase for a meditative/trace state, compared to one brought on by physical sensation.
> 
> Shout out to my dad for the I love you/I love you too/there's only one of me joke, a staple of my childhood. He'll never see this, unless I have wildly misjudged his recreational interests.


End file.
